Mamihlapinatapai
by Ink On Paper
Summary: If you love something, let it go; if it was meant to be, it will come back to you. . . .
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so less than 24 hours till the season finale -I am seriously on the edge of my seat with this one! But, not to totally backtrack, this is the first installment of the previously mention trifecta-type thing I am in the process of compiling that centers around Dead Reflection, Tell All, Two Faced, and, quite possibly, Swan Song. It's my way of dealing with the whole Ray/EJ thing -and parts that were seriously lacking in the aforementioned episodes. In an ideal world, I would post the final chapter to this tomorrow -however, the astute of you have already noticed that there will be three chapters and less than 24 hours in which to post (assuming I decide to keep my preset deadline). So, that just means that I will ATTEMPT to have everything up by 8:00pm tomorrow -most likely though, and I risk having at least one chapter debunked plot-wise, this thing will be done by Friday . . . . Anyway, I hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know your thoughts, much love and keep the peace, Kit!**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned NCIS . . . . That would be _sweet_!**

**"LETTING GO"**

"You are an idiot."

The accusation is unprovoked and, while perhaps true, in this instance, utterly uncalled for. He pauses at the driver's side door to his car, glancing over the roof of the adjacent Honda to take in the familiar source the allegation was issued from.

He doesn't concede nor deny the charge, merely offers a vague and all-encompassing, "Okay," that could terminate as a statement or as a question. His voice is weary and heavy with something that isn't quite identifiable, but it holds the connotation of something unpleasant. . . .

It sounds like surrender.

McGee doesn't waste time trying to decipher DiNozzo's extensive emotional register as he comes to stand on the other side of the car; instead he forges on, reiterating his previous testimony emphatically , "You. Are. An. _Idiot_." And now, finally, under the yellowish glow of the streetlights, Tim can see a reaction stir in the older man, can see the hackles rising to defend against the fact that the younger man sounds totally and utterly _pissed_.

"McG-" but there's no diffusing this discussion if the expression on McGee's face is anything to go by, his features all hard with determination and mouth pressed into a grim line; he's already speaking again, interrupting whatever DiNozzo was going to say, voice echoing in the quiet Navy Yard.

"You're just gonna let her go, just like that?" he demands angrily, "After everything you've been through? You're just gonna _give up_?" And it takes Tony a few beats to get that McGee is mad about . . . . Ziva.

"Tim, I-"

"You what? You couldn't get your crap together and now you're through? _What,_ DiNozzo?"

"What do you want me to do, McGee? Pull some big romantic gesture? Newsflash: It doesn't work like that." And he sounds remorseful about this reality.

"Tony, this isn't a movie-" and McGee deflates slightly, going from mad to exasperated in the time it takes Gibbs to go from zero to sixty when driving.

"I know that," Tony concedes, voice softening with a small, depreciative smile. "And that's why I'm letting her go."

McGee remains, if not more so, utterly confused. "Even aft-"

_Everything?_ "Yeah."

"You went to freaking _Africa_, Tony, without any guarantee you'd come back with anything." _Without any guarantee you'd come back at all. _

"I know –I was there. . . . Why are you so concerned about me and Ziva?"

McGee stays quiet, choosing his words carefully, and, after several heartbeats, "Because I've sat in that desk, watching you two for the past five years. I've seen you two together and apart and I know you know what I'm talking about, DiNozzo."

"I do," he agrees quietly.

McGee allows silence to pervade the space around them as he studies Tony. He seems older, somehow, and maybe it's experience, maybe it's just age, but the difference is profound. This isn't the same DiNozzo of infamous one-night stands and immunity to the harshening effect of reality. This is a man who's aware, acutely and painfully, of the sum of everything. Because while McGee's been watching the drama unfold between Tony and Ziva for the better half of his tenure at NCIS, the two belligerents have been living it. The sexual tension, the worry, the unwavering sense of loyalty were all secondhand information to outside perception; Tony and Ziva, though, they were right there at the epicenter. . . . And after all that, after the dust clears and wounds heal and bridges are repaired, McGee finds it hard to believe that DiNozzo is seriously waving a white flag.

"Then why-"

"Because," and Tony sounds like a man who's found the Rosetta stone that unlocks all of mankind's mysteries. "Because she's _happy_, Tim," he says, as if it's obvious, "Ray takes good care of her and she's _happy_. If I go and open my big mouth all that will do is hurt her. And I don't want to do that, not again." His voice tapers off toward the end, the final admission finishing in an almost whisper.

McGee just stands there staring with his mouth slightly agape. "But you loved her."

And in his mind, romance stories are supposed to end happily ever after. In his mind, right now, Timothy McGee is thinking like a writer and not like an agent that faces the glaring truth of reality daily.

"I still love her, McSparks," and Tony smiles, "But I love her enough to let her go."

"I can't decide if you're brilliant or stupid." _Or brave_.

"Probably the latter." _Definitely_.

"Probably."

_If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it was meant to be._

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: For reference, _mamihlapinatapai_ is a word from the Yaghan language spoken on Tierra del Fuego (an archipelago off the southernmost tip of South America) that translates loosely into, "a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but neither wants to initiate." Check Wikipedia (or another reliable Internet source) if you don't believe me -I promise it's a word! :^)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: :^)**

**DISCLAIMER: Disclaimed. . . . . Takes someplace during Swan Song, but before the final scene.**

**"THE SUM OF THE DIFFERENCE"**

He's sitting in his living room, on his couch, with only the light from a floor lamp illuminating his apartment. His face is cradled in his hands and his elbows are digging into his knees but he just doesn't want to move. When his cell phone chirps from its perch on the coffee table, his initial reaction is to ignore it. But duty outweighs exhaustion and while he doesn't think he can take another tragedy, he knows he certainly can't disregard his team.

"DiNozzo-"

"Tony." Just his name and he knows immediately something is wrong, her voice is too controlled, the syllables too clipped.

He's on his feet in an instant, "Ziva, where are-"

"Is EJ with you?"

"Why?"

Her sigh crackles over the phone as she says, exasperated, "Just answer the question, Tony."

He glances around his still apartment before replying with a careful, "No, it's just me. Where are you, again?"

"I am in the lobby," and she sounds relieved.

"Here?"

"Yes." Duh. "I am coming up." And the call is disconnected before he can ask anything else.

"Hey, what's up?" he asks as he closes the door after she shoulders her way into his apartment without a greeting. She's tousled, with her hair curly around her shoulders and her dress shirt wrinkled slightly. Her eyes are wide and wild and put him on edge because something's incredibly off. "Z-"

"It doesn't make sense," she says suddenly, glancing around the room, waiting for something to emerge from the shadows, "I keep going over it in my head and it just isn't adding up."

"What isn't adding up?" he demands, choking the overwhelming sense of _wrong_ back into his throat so it can't escape. "Ziva, what's going on?"

Dark eyes flicker up to meet green. "He lied to us."

"Who?"

"Ray."

And he calms a bit with this answer. She isn't one to spend much time licking her wounds, but the perceived betrayal is, within context of her life, understandably profound. "We talked ab-" he attempts to placate, but she interrupts him:

"No! Not that, forget about that. Tony, _Kort_."

"Trent Kort." And when the hell did he come into this?

Ziva nods briskly, beginning to pace, and he just watches her move back and forth, back and forth in his foyer. "Yes, Kort. He _knew_, Tony. He knew about Cobb –he had the name and information. The CIA is not known for their communication skills, but if Kort was over seeing an investigation, no matter how secret, he would have told someone. Ray is the liaison between NCIS and the CIA. Kort had to have told him, Tony, that Jonah Cobb was the killer."

Gooseflesh erupts across his skin as he murmurs, "Rule number four."

And she pauses in her pattern, standing still and cocking her head to the side like she does sometimes. "If you have a secret," she elaborates, "the best thing is to keep it to yourself."

"The second best is to tell one other person –if you must," Tony adds slowly.

"There is no third best."

"So you think Ray knew the killer's identity?"

"I understand why Kort wouldn't just give the information to NCIS when all this started, but after Cobb struck here? You cannot _not_ communicate –Ray should have told Agent Barrett everything he knew."

And he almost doesn't want to ask, "So why didn't he?"

Ziva's smile is grim and mirthless and he hates that. "That is where things do not add up."

"How do we know Kort was even working with Ray?" And while Tony doesn't realize he's switched pronouns, Ziva does.

"Kort said so. Besides, McGee saw the surveillance tapes –Cobb was never the squadroom. Gibbs mentioned something off his desk had been taken and the only people with access to Gibbs' desk are you, me, McGee, Ray, and Barrett's team. And unless you are the Port-to-Port killer, then process of elimination says it's Ray."

"I'm impressed you aren't condemning EJ's team," he acknowledges without thinking it through. "Sorry-" but she holds up her hand to stop him.

"Her story adds up."

Tony nods and sighs and doesn't say anything for a long time, but just leans against the doorway, staring at her. The silence is grating on her nerves, though, and when she opens her mouth to speak, he beats her to it.

"So where do we go from here?"

She raises her eyebrows questioningly, "You do not think I sound insane?"

"I think you sound like a special agent with a plausible theory. We should tell Gibbs, Ziva."

She nods, stepping closer to him. "Yes, we should."

"One more question though," he says and she pauses, waiting for him to continue. "Why did you come to me first? Why didn't you take this directly to Gibbs?"

She swallows, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Honestly? Because you are my partner and I trust you."

He offers her a wan smirk, opening the door for her and grabbing his coat off a nearby chair. "We're gonna get this guy, Ziva."

"I believe you."

And whoever is the responsible party, they will pay.


End file.
